Rick and Stan's Bodexcellent Radventure
by queenofseacows
Summary: Stanley Pines is rescued from the burning Mystery Shack by an unfriendly stranger. *I don't currently have a computer :( I had big plans for this story but no typey-typey *
1. Chapter 1

The Mystery Shack was on fire. And not a 'stamp it out with your boot heel' kind of fire either. Curling tentacles of smoke wrapped around the front door, and the gift shop glowed the orange of a day ending. The Mystery Shack, a life assembled one taxidermied oddity at a time, was burning down.

Stanley Pines took off his Fez and held it over his chest.

"Grunkle Stan!" Mabel ran up beside him panting and looking singed around the edges.

"Grunkle Stan! Dipper is in there! We have to help him," she shouted, running toward the smoky porch. Stan ran after, scooped her up and handed her off to Soos.

"Get her out of here," he shouted.

Soos nodded and carried Mabel away.

Stan ran into the shack and looked around. Dipper was curled up behind the counter next to the window. He was almost a teenager, but looked so small. Stan hugged Dipper to his chest and then set him down again. He hefted the antique scuba helmet on the counter and smashed the little window. Through the woolly smoke rapidly replacing the air and light of the gift shop Stan couldn't see if anyone was outside. He dumped Dipper unceremoniously out the broken pane, then turned back to make his own way out. Stan heard a crack and a crash as everything went dark. Then he heard only the hiss and roar of the fire, shouts from outside, and faintly, Bill's electrostatic laugh.

Dark.

Velvet dark.

Velvet darkness and silence interrupted by a bloom of red cascading into a harsh white.

Stan opened his eyes. He was surrounded by a harsh flickering instead of the honeyed sunlight of late summer Oregon; breathed in stale, dust laden air instead of the verdant humidity of Gravity Falls. His face was smashed against cool cement rather than the worn pine floor boards of the Mystery Shack.

"Kids!"

Stan sat up abruptly, head throbbing like an alarm. There was a lump on his head and his fez was missing.

A fleshy greyish blob loomed over Stan and as his eyes adjusted to the fluorescent glare the blob resolved into a slight old man, arms crossed, scowling down at him.

"The ki…urrrpp…ds are fine Stan."

"What the…? Mabel!? Dipper?!"

Stan looked around frantically. The other old man studied his bitten down fingernails, bored.

"I _said_ they're fine. Never mind them, they're not important. You're dead anyway, asshole, so who cares."

"I…what?" Stan tried to get up off the floor; his head throbbed harder and he sank back down.

"You're dead, alright? You're dead. Are you even listening? Well you were almost dead, but against my better judgement, I rescued you. I have an important thing to ask you, maybe *the* most important thing. How the hell did you get one of my portal guns?"

"Portal gun?

"You," the old man said, emphasising the pronouns as if speaking to a small child "sent shit through my portal. The one I built for my private use. You sent a coffee cup: it had your DNA all over it. What the fuck did you …urrrpp... do to that cup?"

The old man weaved back and forth while he talked and waved his hands. The frenetic movement made Stan dizzy.

"The point is I know it was you fucking with my p…urrrpp…ortal. I want to know how you did that. Who else has access to my portal? It's password protected. How did you break into it? What were you going to send through it next? Some kind of demon corn chip army?"

He grabbed Stan by the lapels and leaned in close, snarling like a feral dog. The smell of alcohol and desperation washed over Stan.

"Nobody fucks with Rick Sanchez."


	2. Chapter 2

Stan turned away from the smell.

"What are you talking about? The portal? It's not even mine. I was just trying to fix it."

Stan pulled away, but Rick grabbed Stan's collar tighter and reeled him in, staring him down, daring him to try something. Stan gathered his feet under himself and launched himself at Rick.

"Nyeh!"

They struggled on the gelid floor. Rick pinned Stan and punched him in the face. Hard. Stan's ears rang. He grabbed Rick's throat and squeezed, pushing Rick back at the same time. Stan's meaty palm fit neatly around Rick's neck. Rick flailed his arms and then clawed at Stan's fist. With his other hand Stan reached inside his jacket, grabbed a smoke bomb and slapped it to the cement floor beside them.

Smoke filled the workshop just as it had filled the Shack.

When it cleared Stan was frozen in place, arms raised and one leg up as if running away. Rick held a gun in one hand and was inspecting the fingernails of the other hand. He walked around in front of Stan and clunked him on the cheek with the gun.

"You like being frozen motherfucker? Huh? You like that? Yeah I bet you do. You're lucky I don't shatter you right here mother fucker. Now. I'm going to unfreeze you, and then you're going to tell me about your portal."

Stan melted to the floor. He rubbed his arms to get the feeling back, and then glared up at Rick.

"Where are my great niece and nephew?" Stan demanded. "I need to help them."

"Stan, everything's fine. You…you saved the day, you turned d…death into a fighting chance to live. You…uurrrppp…re a real Captain Kirk. Ju…just sit down and listen for a minute."

"Bill! I was fighting Bill Cipher. I have to get back"

"Don't worry; when we're done here you can get back to blowing that Eldritch corn chip you love so much. You saved the kids, bu…uuurrr…t you died. Well almost. In any other reality you're alive right now, but in Dimension 46'/ you die saving your family."

"Listen, I don't really know anything about the portal, my poindexter brother built it. Him and his robo-nerd degree. He's the one you want."

"But you were using it. Did you go to nerd school too? Huh, smart guy?"

Stan still had no idea what was going on, but he was not going to be trash talked anymore by this weird old man, this Rick Sanchez.

"I don't need any stuffy college. I figured out how to fix that portal on my own."

Rick's sneer softened slightly. He held out his hand to help Stan up. Stan looked at Rick's hand like it might be made of snakes and then got up by himself.

"Okay, Stan," Rick said. "Maybe I got the wrong guy. Maybe we need to take you back home. I can dump you back in the forest and have a _talk_ with y…urrrp…our brother."

"Look, the portal was a mistake. Stan knows that now." Stan looked at the floor.

"Stan? Your brother's name is Stan too? What the fuck?"

"Yeah well…yeah." Stan didn't really have a good explanation.

"Alright, g…urrrrrp…get in the car."

For the first time, Stan realised that they were in a garage. There was a beat up hover car parked right in front of them. Rick walked over to the driver's side and got in.

Stan rubbed his head, walked over to the passenger side, and opened the door.

"Shleemies, huh?"

"Don't ask."

As Stan slammed the door, Rick lifted off and manoeuvered out of the garage. Stan gripped the sides of his seat as the car careened wildly through the air.


	3. Chapter 3

Eventually Rick set the car down in an ordinary strip mall parking lot. On an asteroid. In space. Several of the signs on the marquee were written in English, but most were in some alien script that looked vaguely familiar to Stan.

"Son of a bitch. Where are we?" Stan asked. "I thought we were going back to Oregon."

"I-I gotta pick up an order from Dumpy Stumps. Don't worry yourself, it's on the way."

When Stan didn't seem convinced, Rick continued.

"This is dimension 45'/. We're right next door."

They made their way to the storefront. A bright pink Dumpy Stumps sign buzzed over the doorway.

"All your bulk parts needs." Stan read aloud. "So like, car parts?"

A little bell tinkled as Rick opened the door.

"S…urrrppp…omething like that," he said.

Behind the counter was what looked like a slimy purple ball sack with several beady eyes randomly placed. Half a dozen purple tentacles waved lazily around him.

"Heeeey! My man!" Rick said. "How's the parts business."

"Same as always. A little bit here and a little bit there."

Rick laughed too loudly. Stan looked at the proprietor, and then back at Rick who was wiping a tear from his eyes.

"Was…was that a joke?"

Stan was out of his depth here. Gravity Falls had been weird, but Stan had never once dreamed he'd be standing in an alien strip mall. Stan's dreams mostly involved bikini girls and hot tubs full of pink champagne. Sometimes the girls turned into tentacled aliens, sure, but still…

"Shut up, Stan," Rick said through tightly closed teeth. "You're making my _friend_ here unhappy."

Rick turned back to the proprietor.

"I'm here for my order, Sleegro."

"Last name?"

"Sanchez."

Sleegro rummaged behind the counter and pulled a fifty-five gallon drum from a space that should not have fit anything that big. He banged it down on the counter and gave it a pat.

"17.59 zods of assorted parts, sentient and non-sentient mixed. That'll be 399 flurbos."

"What are you trying to pull, Sleegro? I prepaid for this." Rick frowned. He pulled out his freeze gun, tapped the side of the drum with it then pointed it at Sleegro.

"You got a receipt?" Sleegro asked.

"Do I _got_ a receipt? You dumb sack of shit; I'm your best customer."

Stan took a step back, and then another: Rick was waving the gun around pretty wildly and starting to shout.

"I'm gonna take my mixed parts and I'm going to walk out of this store and _you_ are gonna squanch there and _like_ it."

There was a flicker of movement in Stan's peripheral vision. One of Sleegro's tentacles was snaking around the side of the counter toward Rick's feet, another slowly reaching toward the gun. Stan reached inside his jacket and threw another smoke bomb.

There was the sound of a struggle, what sounded like laser fire; several small wet thumps and one large wet thump. As the smoke cleared Stan saw severed eggplant tentacles twitching on the floor, and Sleegro slumped behind the counter.

Rick calmly emptied the cash register, and then hoisted his drum of parts. The contents sloshed and gurgled meatily.

"I like your style," Stan said.

Rick staggered under the weight of the drum. Stan took the other side and together they hoisted it out to the car.

Back in the driver's seat, Rick pulled out his flask and took a long swig. He punched Stan on the shoulder with the flask, unbalancing himself. Only the glass bubble of the hover car kept him from falling out of his seat.

"Y…you…uurrrrp…did good, Stan. Let's get you home."

The car lurched off the ground and staggered through the air like a drunken butterfly.


	4. Chapter 4

Stan looked out as they stuttered and jolted over the Oregon forest. As they approached the Mystery Shack the lush green of the forest morphed through singed brown, past grey, and into ranks of black tree skeletons. More than the Mystery Shack had burned, it seemed. Rick set the car down in the shadowed trees near the gently smoking remains of the Shack.

All the undergrowth was gone - burned away - and the forest floor was variegated white and grey with ash.

"Okay, time doesn't run the same speed in all the dimensions, so you've been gone about a..." Rick trailed off as Stan got out of the car and looked around, eyes wide. Silent.

Where the Mystery Shack should have been, there was mound of burnt timber with an empty space in the middle, roughly rectangular. The only thing Stan recognized was the stairs leading down under the Shack to the basement. That and the weather vane: W, H, A, and T clearly visible. It didn't make any sense.

Stan's mouth hung open as he circled the massive woodpile. He stopped by the totem pole and put a hand on it. For some reason, the top half was burned off, but it still stood. On the browned lawn behind the Shack someone had set up a stage. His stage. The one he used to announce the reopening of the Shack's wax museum. Behind the podium a giant collage covered with pictures of Stan - Stan and Mabel, Stan and Dipper, Stan and Soos – had been set up, and liberally sprinkled with glitter and googly eyes. Stan's fez sat on a little table beside the podium.

The wooden benches in front of the stage were filled with townsfolk. Soos, Lazy Susan, Fiddleford McGucket, Toby Determined, Tad Strange. Even Free Pizza Guy. Stan felt a squeezing emptiness in his stomach. He'd never even bothered to learn the guy's name. The mood was sombre, subdued. Like a…

"These look like the dumbest people on the planet. Literally."

Stan jumped. He'd forgotten about Rick.

"These are my neighbours. My friends," Stan said. He frowned.

"Literally," Rick repeated, leaning in.

"What is this?" Stan asked. "My…my funeral? I have to…"

Rick put his hand on Stan's shoulder, and swept his other hand through the air to encompass the whole scene.

"As far as this universe is concerned, you're dead. You can't go talk to them without fucking up time. And frankly buddy, it looks like you fucked up time enough. Time particle readings are a…uuurrp…stronomical. I'm going to get stopped at interplanetary customs for a year because of you."

Stan turned on his heel and pointed at Rick accusingly.

" _ **You**_ brought me here. _What the hell am I supposed to do?_ This is my second funeral, did you know that? I've been legally dead for thirty years! And even if I wasn't I'm banned from most of the continental US! I've scammed so many people I have nowhere left to go!

"I hear Canada is nice this time of year."

"I've got your Canada right here," Stan shouted. He grabbed Rick by the shirt and slammed him up against the totem pole and then…stopped.

"Jesus Christ Stan, are you crying?"

Stan turned his head.

"There's a lot of smoke! I have allergies."

Just then Dipper walked onto the stage with some rumpled notes. He stood at the podium and cleared his throat.

"Grunkle Stan saved my life." Dipper's voice cracked. He stared straight at his notes, eyes rimmed with red. He put his fist over his mouth and took a deep breath before continuing.

"And because of that he saved all of Gravity Falls, and all of you. This town will be rebuilt, but without Grunkle Stan it will never be the same."

Dipper was joined on stage by Mabel, she was wearing a dark red sweater with a stylised fish and dot knitted on it.

 _Man that kid's fast with her knitting needles,_ Stan thought. _Dangerous too._

"Grunkle Stan was a beautiful man, with a beautiful heart," Mabel began.

"Bo-ring," Rick muttered.

"Shut up, Einstein."

"He helped us learn valuable life skills, like…fishing. We did a lot of fishing. Sooo much fishing…Grunkle Stan taught us about making money, and running a business. But most importantly of all, he taught us the value of family. And Grunkle Stan, wherever you are, I promise that your gravestone will be the biggest one in the whole state of Oregon."

The audience applauded, more loudly than Stan expected, as Mabel walked off the stage.

"Okay, I'm done here, "Stan said tightly. "I just need to get my hat back."

""W…uurrpp…hatever, we need to find your brother."

As if in answer, Stanford stepped onto the stage and walked over to the podium. Stanley could see Dipper and Mabel huddled together behind the huge collage.

"In light of what has happened in the last…while…I thought I'd say a few…words." Stanford paused, gripping the podium tightly.

Stanley and Rick turned back to the stage and crossed their arms in unison as Stanford continued.

"We are assembled here today to pay final respects to our honored dead. And yet it should be noted that in the midst of our sorrow, this death takes place in the shadow of new life, the sunrise of a new world; a world that our beloved comrade gave his life to protect and nourish. He did not feel this sacrifice a vain or empty one, and we will not debate his profound wisdom at these proceedings. Of my brother, I can only say this: of all the souls I have encountered in my travels, his was the most... human."

Rick clapped his hand over his face.

"Your brother just stole the funeral speech from Star Trek II."

"Yeah, he always was total nerd-bot." Stanley shook his head.

"Because of Stanley and his sacrifice," Stanford continued, "the portal that allowed all of the…weirdness…to leak into Gravity Falls has been destroyed. The alien technology it was based on was destroyed along with it. Because of Stanley we are all safe, once and for all." Stanford paused. "Thank you all for coming today."

"Yeah, you guys are real safe, but at least you aren't a threat." Rick rolled his eyes. "I'm out of here. Come on."

"What?"

The crowd had started to disperse, heading toward the snack tables that had been set up on the other side of the clearing, or toward home; whatever they were calling home in the aftermath of all that had happened. Rick strode out onto the stage and grabbed Stanley's fez, threw it at him.

"I said, _come on_ ," Rick repeated. "You look like you could use a good time. Let's get out of this shit hole and get w…uuurrrp…recked."

Stan looked back over the ruins of the Mystery Shack, and down at his Fez. He put the Fez on his head, straightened it.

"Beaches, babes, and international treasure hunting?" Stan asked hopefully.

"S..something like that," Rick answered as he headed off toward the hovercar.

Stanley slammed the door and looked around the cockpit of the hovercar. He turned to Rick.

"You made this yourself? Nice."

He rapped on the dashboard with a fist. Something went clank-boing and the car careened wildly for a moment until Rick got it back under control. Rick pulled out his flask and took a swig.

Stan smiled and pulled out his own flask.


	5. Chapter 5

The hover car zoomed down toward a dull metal dome topped with a transparent bubble; purple and green lights twinkled from inside. The whole thing appeared to have been built on top of an asteroid. Huge chunks of rock and space debris swung lazily past.

Stan emptied out his flask and leaned back in his seat with his arms folded behind his head.

"Is everything built on asteroids in the future?"

"This isn't the future, asshole. But y…uuurrrp…eah, all the fun things are. Asteroids are a legal gray area; it's the goddamn Wild West out here."

A huge floating billboard proclaimed _Blips and Chitz_ , in gold, purple, and green.

"Squirt, squeeze, spray? _All day_?" Stan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's an arcade, but with beer," Rick said with a sly smile.

"Blackjack?"

"Yu-you think too provincially Stan, you've been ho…uuurrrp...led up in the sticks too long. There are better things to do than cheat people at cards."

"Oh yeah, like what?" Stan crossed his arms over his chest.

"Drinks first, buddy. Drinks first."

Rick spiraled recklessly into the huge parking lot. Stan hooted and put his hands in the air like a kid on a roller coaster. Once parked, they sauntered across the parking lot. Stan looked around at the alien vehicles and at the garish lights that flashed all around the entrance to Blips and Chitz. He glanced over at Rick, who looked…bored. Stan wondered if Rick ever looked anything but bored.

The centre of Blips and Chitz was an open space with a central statue that looked like trees might, if models of the solar system grew on them. It was surrounded by tables - a food court – and filled with a variety of tentacled, winged, and jellied aliens.

Stan looked around in wonder at the rows of lined with surprisingly retro looking arcade cabinets housing games with incongruously science-fictional names. Rick grabbed Stan's shoulder and practically shoved him through. They made their way toward the back of the establishment, if any part of a circle can be considered 'the back.'

A huge metal door slid open and thin green smoke drifted out. The sign above the door read: _Adults Only_. It turned out that Blips and Chitz wasn't just a futuristic arcade, it was also a strip club and bar.

"Why are all the signs in English?" Stan asked.

"Why are you such a moron?"

"Fair enough." Stan rolled his eyes and punched Rick on the shoulder.

Inside, Stan leaned with his back against the bar while Rick ordered drinks in a grating alien language. He and Rick were the only humans in the room. Stan watched as the aliens drained their glasses into a bewildering array of orifices.

The bartender passed them each a green glass bottle. Stan took a hesitant sip and then spit it out violently. He straightened up and looked confused, maybe a little embarrassed.

"Oh," he said. "It's…it's just beer."

"What's wrong with you?" Rick looked annoyed.

I just expected something…different. More…alien…I guess. Never mind."

"I'm starting to think this was a mistake," Rick said.

Stan made his way to one of the tables. It was starkly white with swooping curved chairs that looked like a vision of the future filtered through the nineteen-seventies. A bulky froglike alien sidled up to Stan.

"Aghrooohoo hoo," it said, wrapping a whip-like appendage around Stan's shoulder.

"Uhhh…" Stan said.

It leaned in close and patted Stan's cheek with another thin tentacle.

"Chrough...agroo," it said sounding oddly chummy and nodding enthusiastically.

Stan looked around.

"Uhhh…Rick?"

Rick came sauntering back with two more drinks. He waved one at the alien.

"Get out of here you little bastard!"

The alien looked at Rick reproachfully and then patted Stan's cheek one last time before retracting its appendages and shuffling away.

"Thanks, Rick." Stan shook himself out.

"N…uuurrrp…o problem. My Agoorian isn't too great, so I'm not sure…but I think you may be married now."

"What?!"

"Calm down, it's just a joke. Just a joke. Drink up." Rick handed Stan a bottle.

Stan looked around: at the other end of the room was a stage. Stan wasn't sure what to feel as scantily clad, but only vaguely humanoid aliens gyrated on the narrow stage. In fact he wasn't sure if they were male or female, or if those kinds of distinctions were meaningful to anyone here besides himself.

Rick hooted and threw various types of currency at the aliens.

"I _have_ been out in the sticks for too long," Stan mused. He took a long pull from the bottle and looked at Rick.

"Live it up Stan! No more small time cons for you, buddy. There's a whole universe out there just filled with rubes."

Stan stared off into the middle distance.

"There _was_ that time I fought a Pterodactyl, though. That was cool. I punched him right in the face. Pow."

Stan giggled a bit and then looked sad.

"Gravity Falls beats the hell out of prison, though. I spent 5 years in a Columbian prison for impersonating a dentist. That was rough." Stan shuddered.

"Oh yeah?" Rick said. "Do you have any idea what happens in space prison? Of course you d…uuurrrp…on't. But it's got nothing on time prison. I've actually served 37 consecutive life sentences in time prison."

Rick upended his bottle and shook it. Nothing came out. He waved at the bartender to bring more.

"But," Rick went on, "I'm intimately acquainted with the inner workings of time jail. So I know that's where they keep the time crystals."

"Time crystals?" Stan said.

Rick peeled the label off his beer bottle. He looked up at Stan, suddenly serious.

"Time crystals. They let you travel against the stream of time: forward or back. I once found a few on a deserted sub-light freighter," Rick said. He looked agitated and punctuated his sentences by waving his hands frantically as he went on. "Time travel is its own can of worms; not my thing, but only because it is so highly regulated. The Galactic government w…uuurrrp…on't let anyone near those crystals without the proper authorisation and about a mile of paper work. So they store them in time jail."

"Wait, what? What kind of moron keeps valuable stuff in a jail?"

"The Infinetentiary is the only place with security tight enough to keep time crystals safe from guys like me."

"The Infinetentiary?"

"Time jail. But my point is: you and me together," Rick pointed overenthusiastically at Stan and then at himself. "You and I can do this."

Stan noticed the number of bottles on the table between them had grown. He swayed in his chair a bit. It had been a long time since he had had this much to drink. There was a long pause.

"You up for this Stan?"

Rick looked surprisingly together for the amount he must have drunk.

"I'm in," Stan said finally. He stuck his hand out for Rick to shake.

"Alright!" Rick stood up and lifted his hands above his head like he was doing the wave by himself. "Let's g…uuurrrrp…et wrecked!"

And then he promptly collapsed into a heap on the floor.


	6. Chapter 6

Stan opened his eyes: everything was smears of neon and strobing flashes. The purple haze in front of his eyes slowly resolved into the words "Roy 2, Dave" written in blue and red. Stan realised that he was wedged into the padded seat of the Roy 2 cabinet with his feet resting on the input pad. Curled on his lap, surprisingly light, was Rick.

Rick smirked up at Stan.

"G…uuuurrp…ood morning, Sunshine."

Stan stood up, dumping Rick onto the floor, and then cracked his back.

"Ugh, I am _too_ old for this," Stan said. He looked down, paused, and then looked over at Rick.

"Why are we dressed like pirates?

"Why not?" Rick shrugged.

He stood up, dusted himself off, picked his lab coat up off the floor, pulled out his flask and took a drink.

"Is that thing ever empty?" Stan asked.

"I rigged up a mini portal in the bottom that connects up with a still in my underground lab. So, the short answer to your question is _no_ , Stan, it is _never_ empty."

"Now _that_ ," Stan said stabbing his finger toward the flask, "is the only proper use for an interdimensional whatsit."

The garbage car spiralled lazily away from Blips and Chitz. Stan leaned back into his seat; as he lifted his arms over his head, he was stopped by a stab of pain on his left shoulder.

"What the…?" Stan rubbed his shoulder with the palm of his right hand.

"That's your new tattoo. You had a busy night."

Stan craned his head to try and see what the hell he'd done, but his effort was interrupted by an insistent beeping from the garbage car's control console.

"Hey it looks like a dead Spacers Guild freighter. You wanna check it out?" Rick sounded gleeful.

"Should…should we help them?"

"No, no. Judging from the make of that freighter those people have been dead longer than we've been alive. And when I say 'we' I mean the human race. We're going to help _ourselves_."

Stan raised his eyebrows.

"We'll d…uurrrp…ock on the ship, have a look around, and if nobody shows up to claim it, we'll empty it out and then crash it into the sun."

"To get rid of the evidence?" Stan asked.

"For fun," Rick replied.

Stan nodded.

"But also to get rid of the evidence," Rick conceded.

A cylindrical ship came into view, looking suspiciously futuristic to Stan, despite Rick's protests that it was, literally, older than dirt. As they came closer Stan realised just how enormous the Spacing Guild ship was.

Rick set the car down on the Guild ship, and looked at Stan. Stan was about to ask how they would get in when Rick pulled out his portal gun, twiddled the knob, and opened a portal in the cramped space between their two seats. It was vomit green and undulated in a way that made Stan queasy.

"Ready for some fun?" Rick asked.

Before Stan could answer, Rick slipped through the portal with a whoop and disappeared. Stan suspected that he was not, in fact, ready for fun. He closed his eyes and followed Rick.

The ship was dusty and ancient, partially lit with amber emergency lights. The walls were a dull bronze: all bare metal and exposed bolts. The metal grating of the floor was clogged with grime and debris. Everything was coated with a cinnamon coloured dust.

It was everything Stan could have hoped for in a dead space freighter.

Rick ran his finger along the wall. It came away coated with orange dust. Rick popped his finger in his mouth and concentrated. His eyes widened.

"This is spice, melange." He looked at Stan.

"Those all _sound_ like English words, but I don't know what any of them mean."

"Only the most valuable substance in the known universe, dumbhole. The dust on these walls is worth more than your entire shitty dimension."

"Huh." Stan rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Rick took out what looked like a clunky antique cell phone and waved it around.

"The command room is up this way," he said, pointing with the sensor.

Stan followed. He wondered if this was the sort of thing Stanford had been doing all these years. No wonder he hadn't wanted to be rescued.

They reached the command room and found the door stuck partially open, hanging at a 45 degree angle. Rick slipped through the narrow space easily. Stan frowned at it and then put his shoulder to the door and forced his way through. There was a metallic screech as the door gave way and folded up into the wall.

There were oversized banks of computer equipment, and the kind of giant view screen you saw in low budget sixties sci-fi movies. There were skeletons seated in some of the chairs still clutching guns as though it would do them any good after all this time.

Rick glanced back at Stan and grabbed the closest gun. The skeleton holding it disintegrated into dust. Stan flinched.

"Take it." Rick insisted.

He pushed the gun into Stan's chest. It looked like a ray gun ought to look: all rounded edges and useless decorative Saturn rings. It even had a little satellite dish on the end. Stan shifted the gun from hand to hand as Rick rummaged through the control room, pulling things apart and filling his pockets.

"Okay, l…uurrrrp…et's get down to the cargo hold, where the real money is."

It took some searching before they could find service hatches leading to the lower levels of the ship. There were clearly marked elevators in convenient places around the deck, but none of them worked.

Stan clambered down the ladder with an echoing clank. And then another. And another. Rick followed behind him.

"Just how many floors are there?" Stan asked.

Rick pointed to a little metal plate by the top of the ladder.

"This says 'Command Deck 4'. I…uuurrrr…'ll let you know when they start saying 'Cargo Deck.'"

After what seemed like dozens of floors, the ladder ended suddenly. There was a substantial drop to the floor. Stan let go and dropped to the ground with an 'oof'. Red dust flew into the air around him. Rick leapt lightly onto the metal grating and immediately started waving the sensor around.

"We're here," Rick said.

They emerged out of the service hatch and into a huge open space lit by the same amber light. The floor was covered in metal barrels as far as Stan could see.

"We're gonna be rich Stan." Rick danced around and waved his hands in the air.

A beeping came from the sensor. Rick stopped dancing.

"Uh-oh," he said.


End file.
